


a painful mix of fear and longing

by Knightblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season/Series 06, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-21
Updated: 2011-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel craves and Crowley provides, in a way. But they both know it'll never be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a painful mix of fear and longing

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny _just won't leave me_ , and I needed to get it out. Spoilers for major plot point in Season 6.

It’s a human thing to want and Castiel knows that, but after spending so much time around Dean—around the _Winchesters_ the angel can’t really count himself as one of his brothers anymore, not when he can just feel how different he is from them. He, the foot soldier who was twice returned by someone’s hand; the lone soldier who was once one of many but not anymore. He _wants_ and he craves, and in a twisted, taunting way he can understand the feeling of trying to get something unobtainable, something that’s far beyond his reach. The notion of this is ridiculous, to be honest, but there is something he desires so much but can never get no matter how much he wants and craves and begs to a Father he isn’t even sure that exists.

Crowley taunts him about it often as he arches and moves gracefully under Castiel, inhuman grace and power coiling around him like a snake out from the vessel that the new King of Hell has. The angel isn’t sure how _this_ started, nor does he particularly want to remember—its yet another one of his choices in the series of choices he’s made ever since the Apocalypse was averted and he’s left to try and quell the chaos up in Heaven, when he agreed to Crowley’s deal and used his newfound powers to declare civil war against Raphael.

He’s made many choices already and Castiel knows that there will be more choices to make in both the near and far future, and it’s that thought that has him pause even as Crowley tugs his pants down not too kindly, nearly tearing the cloth into two. They’re both not human, after all, so the demon never cares about being gentle and nice—it was never in his dictionary, anyway.

“Penny for your thoughts, sugar?” he eventually speaks once he’s actually got the pants down and Castiel’s half-hard cock in his hands. It’s enough of a miracle how the angel even manages to send Crowley a brief glare in response to the words considering how the demon’s got him by the hilt.

“I am not sweet,” he intones, voice flat and monotone and Crowley can’t help but break into a small, amused grin.

“Really, darling, you need to work on your bedside manners.” And that’s all the demon says before he bends to take Castiel into his mouth, effectively cutting off whatever the angel attempts to speak in response as Castiel’s breath comes out in a shuddering gasp, hands coming up to clutch around the other’s head as Castiel attempts to steady himself, trying to not get caught by the onslaught of sensation that engulfs him.

He always tries not to, but whenever this happens and he unconsciously squeezes his eyes shut all he can see is _Dean_ doing this, _Dean_ giving him this and his senses all but scream the Righteous Man’s name at him even though it’s impossible and improbable and it will never happen because Dean Winchester has his life again and he has no right to ruin it, not after everything.

* * *

  


When this happens (and it does seem to happen in increasing frequencies these days, not that he’s been keeping track or anything), Crowley always makes it a point to work him hard and fast, almost methodically in his rhythm. It’s just an arrangement between them after all, just as how everything else is; demon’s can’t love and angels can’t lust (and Crowley snorts at this point because _come on_ , demon giving angel a blowjob here), even with Castiel filling up in his mouth while the angel himself tries not to rock his hips, struggling not to thrust deeper even though Crowley could very well easily manage if it happens. Because he knows it’s not _his_ mouth that Castiel’s imagining, not _his_ head he’s holding and not _him_ the angel’s doing it with. It’s never him. The demon’s known it from the start, and he doesn’t need the quiet, barely-there whisper of _Dean_ that Castiel breathes out like some bloody benediction before he comes to know.

The angel rarely returns the favour too once he’s done, something that Crowley doesn’t mind too much since having sex with somebody like Castiel really isn’t up on his bucket list. When he does though its primal and instinctive, lust and adrenaline all tumbling together into something that isn’t even remotely human-like as they tangle in the sheets, wrestling control from one another. There’s nothing sweet or lovely or nice about their time in bed (and sometimes _out_ of it); its only control and need and some form of desperation, all the things that Crowley understands best before yeah, he _is_ still King of the Crossroads. He’s sold sin to saints for centuries.

Castiel, of course, doesn’t stay when the deed is done—he takes one moment to get his clothes back on, and another to disappear and go off to creep on the Winchesters or whatever it is that he does in his (decidedly now-not-so) angelic line of duty. Crowley, of course, doesn’t really care at all as long as the angel holds up his end of the bargain. Things are going about as smoothly as he can imagine which is really all well and good considering he’s working with an _angel_ , even with the random bouts of sex that happen (which of course, something that Crowley can’t really complain about—too bad the commendations office shut down a long time ago because he’s pretty sure he would have gotten quite a number for the whole angel defiling thing).

It’s only an arrangement and not a relationship, but even then Crowley can’t help but think that it’s really kind of pathetic and maybe sad to see an angel from above all head over heels for a human who’s just so dense and blind to the bloody emotions that the angel is all but fucking directing at him. And when said angel chokes on the name every time before he comes and Crowley can only all too easily see just what is playing in the angel’s head (because it’s just that bloody _obvious_ ), the demon wonders just what is worse—the way Hell was before he reformed it, or this slow, painful way of breaking somebody.

Either way, Alistair was right—Dean Winchester _really_ had talent.


End file.
